


Time Will Tell

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: Academy era Dimitri turns forward the hands of time, and the only answers he gets are to questions he never, ever would have asked. (Out loud, anyway.)(OR: Academy era Dimitri goes forward in time and a bunch of sexy and emotional and emotionally sexy stuff happens involving him and post-canon dimilix.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 20
Kudos: 161





	Time Will Tell

**Author's Note:**

> If the concept of academy era Dimitri interacting sexually with post-canon Felix & Dimitri makes you uncomfortable, please turn back now. Otherwise, enjoy as always 🥰

Dimitri felt Abyssian eyes upon him, dozens or more at once, following him through the cramped, shadowed alleys and blinking at him from within dilapidated sloped shelters formed of splintering planks and chipped stones scavenged from the mountain tunnels. The wary citizens of Abyss lingered long as they always did on the fine fabric and silver trimmings of his uniform, and Dimitri knew that they would whisper and nudge one another over his noble bearing, too -- so obvious in the way he carried himself, no matter how he tried to hunch his shoulders and keep his eyes fixed down. 

Of course, his reputation preceded him in other ways, too. He carried a solid steel lance strapped close at hand, ready to bring to bear should he need it, and no matter how darkly some of those watching eyes glittered, the Abyssians kept their distance. 

Still, he did feel a little guilty. He could imagine Dedue’s disappointment. He could practically see the tightness at the corners of his eyes and hear his reprimanding tone as he begged him -- _Your Highness, the next time you feel compelled to take a late night sojourn into the depths of Abyss, please do not leave me behind._

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing, and ducked beneath a cracked rafter wrapped with tattered cloth and frayed rope. 

The room beyond was laid out like a lounge, and there in the center of it stood a rounded counter topped with a tattered black tablecloth and all manner of magical bits and baubles scattered and stacked across it. Bundles of incense placed throughout the room sent smoke curling up to collect in hazy swirls overhead, sweet-smelling and, in truth, slightly overwhelming. A veiled woman dressed in loose winding swathes of black and purple bustled around behind the fixture, humming to herself, but she looked up to glance at him as he stumbled in. He could imagine what he looked like: too young, too eager, red-faced and so clearly uncertain. She merely gestured at a plush chair opposite her, wordless.

Dimitri dropped into it, though not without a nervous glance back. The woman laughed. 

“Afraid of being followed, are we?” she teased, her voice lower than Dimitri remembered, huskier. She leaned in to light a candle with a smokey flourish. Her face was entirely unreadable, hidden as it was. 

“I really shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, feeling more than a little foolish. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said, last time. Is it true that you can show me a glimpse of my own future?” 

She leaned back, and though Dimitri could not see her face, he could feel her appraising look. He ducked his head, blushing. This had been a mistake, that was clear. He didn’t have the stomach for this, making ill advised magical pacts with heathens -- surely, if Lady Rhea were to find out, she’d have him expelled. Prince or no, the Church did make it clear that certain acts were unforgivable. Surely this was among them.

“A glimpse,” she agreed, carefully, and then she reached out an expectant hand. Hesitantly, Dimitri extended his own, and she snatched it up as though she expected to lose the opportunity at any moment. Her fingers curled around his, and she let out a laughing, pleasant hum, nodding to herself. “Such a storied bloodline,” she sighed, tracing his palm with her fingertips. “The trueborn heir to the Blaiddyd line…” 

“Please, keep your voice down,” Dimitri begged her, and she released his hand, waving dismissively. 

“I will need an offering,” she said, and Dimitri could hear the way she tried to sound bored, though her voice nearly shook with excitement. She did not wish him to know just how badly she desired his offering, did she? Not for the first time, he wondered what use she might have for his blood, and… also not for the first time, he shoved the thought away from him. It wasn’t his business, was it? Surely not. 

He removed his gloves, first, laying them carefully aside atop the counter. Next, he drew a dagger from his belt and wedged the blade tight against his palm, nodding. “I am prepared for that,” he declared. Faintly, over his shoulder -- or perhaps merely at the back of his mind -- whispers cautioned him against this course of action. Occasionally, he heard specific voices in it, now. His father, his stepmother… occasionally Glenn, as well. All dead, or presumed as such, so what did that mean?

He tried desperately to meet the woman’s eyes behind her mask. “I am prepared to offer as much as you need to provide what I seek,” he clarified, and she grinned, her lips thin and stretched wide over cracked teeth that bent at odd angles. 

“A glimpse into such a dark and tangled future will require power, indeed,” she mumbled, licking her lips. Dimitri could feel her eyes on the dagger, pressed tight against his skin, just shy of parting the flesh of his palm. “Here,” she said, pulling a glass decanter from beneath the counter. She set it on the table between them. “Fill it to, oh, let’s say -- here,” she said, drawing a line in the dusty glass more than halfway from the bottom. 

“Fine,” Dimitri said, and he drew the dagger across his palm without so much as a wince. This self inflicted pain was nothing; he barely felt the sting of the blade. Warmth dripped down the length of his fingers and into the decanter, filling it sluggishly. 

“You wish to know if you will accomplish all you seek,” the woman said, watching it fill. “If you will bring the truth of the Tragedy to light, and those responsible to justice. I can show you…” she crooned, and then abruptly, she took his bloody hand, smearing their palms together. A jolt of -- _something_ went through him at the contact, and he jerked back against his seat with a soft little grunt, suddenly dizzy. The sickly sweet scent of the room faded from his senses, and soon after, the rest of it attempted to follow suit, going translucent and foggy around him. A wave of dizziness forced him to shut his eyes. 

The woman _tsked._ “Eyes open, now,” she warned. “Or you’ll miss what you’re looking for, foolish prince.” 

With effort, Dimitri forced his eyes open. 

His stomach lurched. 

He was no longer standing in Abyss; at least, not to his own perception. He could feel the woman’s fingers around his, still, her cold flesh a stark contrast to the warmth of his own blood spilling over his skin, but that was the only tether he had to the time he had stepped out of, for it was clear that where he stood now, months had passed. 

He recognized himself, though he wished that he did not. 

“Where am I?” he demanded, grimly. “Fhirdiad?” 

Ghostly figures moved around him, but all he could look at was himself, eyes wild, blood on his hands, his clothes, drying dark and sticky in his hair as scavenged for weapons off corpses stacked like cordwood. The men and women he subsequently slaughtered in what looked to be the long halls of the castle’s underground dungeons were dressed in Fhirdiad colors, people he knew, subjects who should have been loyal to him. Was this a coup, then? Was this what awaited him, when he returned home? More treachery, more blood and horror? His gorge rose, hot and acidic at the back of his throat.

“Please, no,” he gasped, miserably. “I can’t bear it. I shouldn’t have --” 

“This is not the answer you seek?” the enchantress’s voice rang out, thoughtfully. “Further, then. Let us see.” 

Vertigo seized him as he felt himself yanked forward, though his body did not move. Rather, the world seemed to move around _him._ His stomach lurched and he snapped his eyes shut, bile rising. Goddess forgive him -- so _this_ was what came of seeking the power of outlanders and their foreign gods! 

“No, no,” the woman sighed, and, curious despite himself, Dimitri cracked his eyes open, just a hair. 

Images and scenes flew by, dancing past him like ghostly play actors on stage. Himself, alone on a forested battlefield, cutting down imperial soldiers one by one, his movements mechanical and hardly human. 

“So,” he gasped, pain flaring through his middle and settling hard over his heart, “Felix is right, isn’t he? About all of it. Everything. I -- Truly, I am beyond redemption. If this is my future, should I not let him end it, now? Prevent this suffering?” He gestured, desperately, as the ghostly image of his future self snarled and drove the point of his spear through the chest of an enemy, twisted, and brutally withdrew, leaving a ruined body crumpled in his wake. 

“Felix?” The woman hummed, and then she laughed -- giggled, almost, like a delighted girl. Dimitri staggered as the ghostly scene about him shifted, stretched, and _pulled_ , and images flew by faster than he could process -- so much blood, so much _death!_

“Stop,” he begged, gasping, trying to wrench his hand free, but the woman’s grip on him was like an icy vise, now, and even his own substantial strength did not free him. “No more,” he panted, eyes squeezed shut, stomach roiling. 

“ _This_ Felix?” she wondered aloud, ignoring him. “Look, now. Don’t be shy.” 

Cautiously, he let his eyes open, just a sliver. 

And then they flew wide, because he was staring at himself, again, and Felix, too, only both of them were older, different. Where were they? It looked so much like Garreg Mach’s cathedral, but it couldn’t possibly have been. The altar lay in ruins, rubble piled about the room like it had been caved in by the angry fist of the Goddess, herself, and Felix -- Felix… 

Felix was shouting at him, Dimitri thought, watching the scene play out before him in silence. Felix’s ghostly finger jutted out at him, jabbing his future self firmly in the chest, and that larger, far more dangerous seeming version of himself snatched his slender fingers in one great big fist and squeezed, pulling Felix close to his chest. And though Felix struggled, though Dimitri _saw_ him try to pull away, his mad, dangerous, _beastly_ future self only laughed and took hold of Felix’s slender chin -- had he cut his hair? -- and -- _brought their lips together --_

“I don’t want to see this,” he begged, fear slicing through him as he watched his future self hold Felix hard in place and kiss him deeply. He saw Felix’s back stiffen, saw him claw at the front of this older, clearly deranged Dimitri’s scarred iron breastplate and then grip his cloak for purchase, and if this was his future, if he was destined to lose his mind entirely and _force_ Felix to, to -- “ _Please,_ ” he gasped, tears filling his eyes. He stood from his seat and staggered back, shoving the woman away from him, but though he felt her fingers release his, the spell didn’t break. 

He would stop it, he thought, grimly. If he had to take his own life before he became that monster, that beast in truth, he’d -- 

“ _Watch,_ ” the woman’s voice hissed at him, omnipresent in his mind, reverberating. 

And then he was spinning, untethered in silent blackness, neither in the seance room in Abyss or anywhere else, tumbling through cold so complete it put all the Fearghus winters he had ever known to shame. His teeth chattered, his stomach roiled, and he reached out into the darkness for something, anything to ground himself with, and found nothing. He only went on tumbling, spinning, forward and on and _on._

Until he felt that terrible cold around him part, all at once, and he fell through a gap in the curtain of that terrifying _between_ and back into the world, proper.

...Mostly proper, he corrected his own thoughts, gazing dazed at his surroundings. 

“What was that?” a voice hissed. Cloth shuffled, and Dimitri clenched his jaw and forced himself to stop chattering while he gathered his bearings. Not Abyss, that was certain. 

It was warmer where he’d landed, but not by much. Snow fell in lazy flakes around him, and he soon realized, with a lurch of his heart, that he was sprawled out on his father’s balcony, adjacent to the royal suite in Castle Fhirdiad. Had something gone wrong with the spell? Was he back in his own time? If so, the voice -- was his uncle -- _fraternizing_ in his father’s bed? 

More shuffling sounded from within, followed by a soft, laughing groan that made Dimitri’s cheeks flush even as he strained to hear more, to put names to the voices within. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Felix,” he heard a masculine voice say, low and teasing. Shocked, Dimitri stood on trembling legs and peered through a thin slat in the wooden shutters, right into the royal chambers. 

Surely, he must have gone mad. Whatever that woman had done to him, she’d broken his mind and left him there with what must have been a fantasy, instead. A final kindness to him, perhaps, as he lay dying or worse in her smoke-filled pagan seance room, deep in Abyss. 

What he saw inside the royal chambers was, well -- _himself,_ presumably, though he could not imagine himself ever looking precisely like _that._ He had caught glimpses, while the witch worked her spell on him -- himself, larger, hunched in his furs, dead-eyed and hardly human. _This_ Dimitri retained the physical size of that other, had the same vicious, visible scars, but he looked entirely sane, now. Peaceful, even. His hands were tucked casually behind his head, and he gazed adoringly up at a man who truly did appear to be _Felix._ He, too, had changed in the intervening years: his face was cut thinner, sharper, his expression all the more severe for it. He was more beautiful than ever, in truth; just glimpsing him this way, Dimitri felt the breath all leave his lungs in an embarrassing rush. 

Which Felix heard, of course. His head snapped around, their eyes met, and an electric tingle sparked at the base of Dimitri’s neck and rolled down his spine. Especially when Felix drew a beautiful blue steel sword Dimitri was _certain_ he had never seen before in one smooth, long motion and pointed it toward him, practiced and controlled. So unlike the Felix he knew now. That Felix, the one back at the monastery -- he was all reckless heat, bubbling up and boiling over because it had nowhere better to go. Nothing like this. His breath hitched, and his fingers clenched at his sides, emotions he could neither name nor describe arresting him in place.

“Show yourself,” that older, colder Felix growled, his amber eyes flashing -- and that too was familiar, more proof that this truly was _Felix,_ his Felix. He stalked toward the window, sword in hand, and Dimitri noted with something dangerously like hope in his heart that he was dressed only in a fluttering night robe, like he’d actually just _risen from his bed._ Like they _shared_ a bed, together, this Felix and this Dimitri, together in the privacy and comfort of castle Fhirdiad’s royal chambers. His mind skittered shyly around the many intriguing things that might mean.

“Felix,” Dimitri heard himself sigh from within. His voice had changed, too, but less so than his face, his body. “Peace. There is no one on the balcony. Come to bed, now, won’t you?” 

Dimitri felt his cheeks go hot, the implication obvious. Felix didn’t respond, but he kept his sword at the ready and their eyes locked. “Whoever is paying you,” he said, “I’ll double your fee for their name. If you surrender now and speak quickly and honestly, I may even let you live to enjoy the profit.” 

Dimitri sucked in a breath. Whatever else was happening here this night, this Felix -- he was protecting his King, was he not? The thought made him dizzy with wonder and, indeed, _relief._ If Felix was here beside him, still, surely -- _surely_ nothing he would do prior to this moment had been truly unforgivable. Surely. No matter what terrible things he had seen in those faint, ghostly images along the way here.

“Felix,” he whispered, hardly believing his eyes. “Is that really you?” 

Those fierce amber eyes flew wide. Felix’s mouth opened, closed, and the tip of his sword wavered visibly. “You…” he began, and then he lowered the blade and glanced back, helplessly. “Dimitri,” he hissed.

Dimitri watched his older, broader self sit up straight, hesitate, and then throw his legs over the side of the bed, rising from it naked as the day he was born. He flushed at the sight, though wasn’t it only himself that he was seeing? Would he really grow so much taller, still? What had happened to his eye, to cause that awful looking scar -- and there on his chest, too, a wicked, long-healed gash he didn’t recognize, cutting through a speckled dusting of wiry hair. He certainly didn’t look anything like that _now._

“Ah,” that taller, more intimidating man said, gently, meeting Dimitri’s searching gaze through the slats. Dimitri watched his older self reach for Felix, taking his wrist in hand, and then watched further in wonder as he worked Felix’s strong, slender fingers free of the hilt of the sword he clutched there and drew the blade carefully away from him. 

Felix let him take it, and then turned to him, brow knit. Before he could ask any questions, that older, different Dimitri raised a hand and pressed his fingers over Felix’s lips, hushing him. He leaned in close, murmuring in his ear, and -- stupidly, unexpectedly -- jealousy blazed through him at the sight, hot and sharp. 

He turned from the shutters and toward the balcony doors, leaving them murmuring urgently back and forth to one another, and trudged through the gathered snow in the boots he’d put on just hours ago in his own time to beg his favor in Abyss. His mind raced. The time of night appeared to be the same here as it had been when he’d… left, so to speak: late enough that most were sleeping. Here, however, a full lone moon hung clear and high overhead, and though Dimitri did not make a habit of studying the moons, he was certain they had not been so bright, yet, in his own time.

Or perhaps it was all a trick. Perhaps none of it was real at all, and this was just a spell that showed him what he most _wanted_ to see… but then, why had it shown him those awful things, at the start? 

He yanked on the door and found it locked, of course. He knocked, three times in rapid succession, and then he shook the latch again, his breath misting before his face. It was damned cold out, actually, and now that the shocking, numbing cold of the journey there was wearing off at last, he could feel his teeth wanting to chatter, his body warning him to find shelter at once. With an annoyed sound, he tightened his grip on the door handle and prepared to force it, only to hear the latch turn and a telltale _click_ from the opposite side. He took a step back, and the door swung open courtesy of his own older, larger, considerably more intimidating future self. 

Dimitri stared up at him, his jealousy evaporating into stunned, silent appreciation, instead. The man before him had pulled on a robe, mercifully, though he had tied it far too loosely.

“I, ah, that is,” he began, stammering stupidly. He took a deep breath. “Please allow me to explain.”

“There is no need,” the man before him said. “The ritual in Abyss. I remember it well.” 

Dimitri nodded, gaping up at him, unable to keep himself from sweeping his gaze over the solid bulk of his own shoulders, and then down the corded muscle of his arms. So much more impressive than he was, now! He flushed, his eyes darting lower despite himself, shifting on his feet in the cold, drifting snow. Ah. Hm. So that, too, then. 

His older self smiled and stepped back, gesturing for him to enter. “I wondered when this day would come,” he murmured. “I had begun to worry that perhaps I imagined the entire thing, after all.” 

“Then, you…”

He nodded. “I am you, after all. Albeit with somewhat more… experience?” He laughed, but there was no hint of mockery in it. Instead, the sound put Dimitri oddly at ease. If he could laugh like that in the future, perhaps things were not so dire as they seemed in his present.

And, of course, Felix was here. In his future King’s private chambers, late at night. Sharing his bed. Challenging perceived assassins at his window. He licked his lips. His curiosity burned, but first...

“The Flame Emperor,” he began. 

Dimitri -- King Dimitri -- held up a hand. “Dead,” he said, grimly.

Wild hope kindled in his breast. “The Death Knight,” he continued, breathlessly. 

King Dimitri shook his head. “Dead,” he repeated. “All of them dead,” he sighed, and Dimitri could not fathom why he sounded so very sad as he spoke the words. He flexed his fingers at his sides, staring up at him, taken aback by his melancholy tone. 

“You’ve been crowned King,” he said. “Everything I hoped to do, you’ve been successful, haven’t you?” 

“It has not been so simple as that,” his older self cautioned him, quietly. He held out a hand, and, flushing, Dimitri reached out to take it. His hands were bigger, too, he thought, numbly, as those larger fingers folded around his. Such a strange sensation. “Just remember this. No matter what should happen in the months and years to come, you will survive it. You must live.” 

“I don’t intend to die,” he said, though it came out hollow even to his own ears. 

“Do not presume to lie to me,” the King said, sharply. “I am you, after all. I know the truth of what is in your mind.” 

“Do you?” The curiosity in him flared. “Tell me, then. Too often I am given cause to wonder if I truly even know myself, and yet you seem so sure. So -- tell me the truth of it, won’t you? The things I hear? The voices, their commands...” 

He stopped. He had never spoken of this aloud. 

The King’s face softened, and he squeezed his hand, gently. “Forgive me,” he said. “It has been some time. I could not recall the exact timing…” he sighed. “Come with me,” he said. “I must show you something.” 

_What are you hiding_ ,he wondered, but he could not find the courage to ask. Perhaps he was not yet meant to know? He felt light headed, giddy still despite the somber tone of this particular conversation, alive with the hope that there was something other than endless, overwhelming despair in his future, after all. 

“Felix,” he whispered, wondering, twisting his head up to desperately meet the kind, unwavering gaze of the man he would, with any luck, one day become. “That _is_ Felix, isn’t it? Can you tell me at the very least what must I do to win him back? I fear, left to my own devices, I will never manage it.” 

“You will,” the King murmured. He put a hand on his shoulder and smiled down, but some of that unwavering kindness, Dimitri saw, had been replaced with wolfishness, instead. His teeth gleamed.

“You must understand, seeing him here, with you… ah. I had begun to think that I had actually lost him for good,” he admitted, his voice hardly above a whisper. He had never spoken the fear aloud, for further superstitious fear of somehow speaking the worry into irrevocable existence. The King’s smile curved into a knowing smirk, and then he led them to his chambers, took hold of the latch, and pushed open the door with a soft little _click_. Warm air rushed out to greet them.

And Felix snapped his head up.

He was seated on the edge of the bed and wearing that silk night robe, still, his eyes darting from one to the other and back again. Dimitri realized through his shameless staring that the robe was one of his own, embroidered with the Crest of Blaiddyd there on the breast, though it never would have fit on the frame of the man he had apparently grown into. Felix seemed to realize the moment _he_ realized it, and Dimitri watched with delight as his face flushed in such familiar fashion, his pale cheeks darkening to a fine shade of rosy pink. Yes, this Felix was older, certainly, far more dangerous, and far more _handsome_ , as well -- but still _Felix._ Still the boy he knew so well and missed so very much. 

“His Majesty tells me this is not a trick,” Felix said, in tones that clearly said he didn’t believe it. “That you are truly him as he was, sent here by some ridiculous blood magic you commissioned…” he paused, here, and shot the King a scathing look, one that Dimitri knew only too well. “Alone,” he spat, and now he sounded like himself, again, _his_ Felix, young and angry and always so very expressive. “In Abyss, like an _imbecile_ , after that utter debacle in Remire.”

He folded his arms, expectant, waiting to hear his answer.

Dimitri nodded, but his voice, he found, had caught uselessly in his throat. What to even say? He couldn’t stop _looking_ , staring, admiring the high cut of Felix’s cheekbones and the long line of his neck, which led the eye naturally to his dark, fine hair, recently combed, shining blue-black temptation in the flickering firelight. His older self seemed to sense his distress -- or perhaps he remembered it, personally? In either case, he placed his hands on Dimitri’s shoulders and laughed, guiding him further into the room. Their voices weren’t so different, no, but that _laugh_ , low and genuine… in the future, would he truly be capable of such open and honest merriment? Or would he merely become more practiced at pretending? He couldn’t tell.

“Be kind, Felix,” the King chastised. “If only to prove that you are capable.” 

Felix dropped his eyes, the pink in his cheeks flooding to full, blotchy red. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, softly. 

“I can see why you must doubt me,” Dimitri said, finding his voice at last. “After all, that wretch, Solon… he did conceal his identity masquerading as Tomas! If he could steal a man’s identity down to the most minute details of his appearance, enough to fool Lady Rhea and Seteth, both? I must seem most suspicious, indeed.”

“No,” Felix said, short and sharp, and then he turned his attention back to his King. “What am I allowed to say,” he demanded.

The King replied first with a thoughtful hum, and then: “He wishes to know what he must do to earn your forgiveness,” he said, and Dimitri felt his face go hot with humiliation. He cringed down into his own hunched shoulders, aghast at hearing his own selfish desire repeated so casually. 

Felix narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, considering.

“It’s a ridiculous question,” he said, finally, throwing up his hands. He turned his gaze onto Dimitri, pinning him in place with it, his mouth twisted into a familiar, petulant frown. “Listen to me. Everything you think you need forgiveness for, you don’t. It’s my own fault, understand?” He lowered his eyes and then his chin, too, down so far it nearly touched his chest. “All that has happened to you, and all that has yet to happen, too.” He fell into silence, his expression pensive. He looked at neither of them, now, and Dimitri could see the way his fingers clenched into tight fists at his sides. That, too, was achingly familiar. 

“Felix,” Dimitri murmured, his tone one of breathless wonder. He shook the too large, heavy hands of his future self off his shoulders and stumbled forward, his own arms out, eager and yet hesitant, too, inexplicably worried that if he touched him one or both of them might evaporate into nothing. But of course, that didn’t happen. Instead, Felix rolled his eyes, reached out, and met him halfway, catching his hands and squeezing tight. His fingers were strong and solid and impossibly, decadently _real_.

“That boy I was,” Felix continued, quietly. “The one you’ll be returning to, soon enough.” Those burning amber eyes flickered up to find Dimitri’s, meeting his gaze, and Dimitri knew how much the effort cost him, even now, older and wiser as he so clearly was. “He’s an idiot,” Felix scoffed, startling him. “Letting his anger and his fear drown out his better sense. He’ll be sorry for that, soon enough. You, just -- try and remember that, will you? He’s sorry.” And he dropped his gaze at last, swiftly, the movement accompanied by a mostly inaudible sound that Dimitri was fairly certain had been a most fervently muttered curse.

“His fear,” he repeated in a murmur, wincing. “I’m so sorry that I ever gave you reason to be afraid,” he said, and then, entirely unexpected, he felt hot tears gathering at the backs of his eyes. He blinked furiously, willing them away. Felix wasn’t the sort to be impressed by tears -- quite the opposite, if anything!

But once again, Felix surprised him. He reached up with a long sigh and brushed that telltale wetness away with his thumbs, his touch firm but gentle, and shook his head. “Not of you,” he explained. “ _For_ you. For your damned _soul._ Dimitri. The voices, the headaches, I didn’t --” 

“It’s all right,” he cut him off, even as behind him, the king did the same thing, used the same words, the both of them speaking in doubled unison.

Felix snorted once with dry amusement, and then he dropped Dimitri’s hands and glared over his shoulder at his King, instead. “You never told me,” he accused. 

“I said that you’d know the reason, eventually,” came the easy reply. “Did I not speak true?” 

“ _Ridiculous,_ ” Felix muttered again, and then he pulled that robe tighter around his shoulders and looked down, that telltale blush back on his face. “You’ll make it back safely,” he said, frowning. “I remember how pale your face was. That cut on your hand. You refused to tell me what you’d done.” 

The intention was obvious. He was telling him that he would seek _his_ Felix out, either immediately upon returning to his own time, or soon after -- for if it was true, it had taken place long in this Felix’s past, even if it was still in Dimitri’s own murky future. His head swam at all the implications, the games they were playing with powers so far beyond them.

“Indeed,” the King agreed, as though he both heard and approved of his thoughts. Or perhaps he merely remembered them as they had been, somehow.

“Dimitri,” Felix snapped. “Either tighten that robe or put some damned clothes on, will you?” Indeed, the King’s sash had pulled even looser with his movements, revealing far too much in glimpses. Yet instead of complying, he laughed and strode further into the room, exacerbating the issue.

“I’m afraid that’s not quite how this goes,” he said, and then he turned to glance over his shoulder, brows arched. “Is it?” he prompted.

“I -- I’m not sure,” Dimitri stuttered, trying and failing to not study the particulars of his own backside through the fabric. “But you remember, don’t you?” he asked, weakly. In truth, it felt incredibly unfair that his own future self was the one so comfortable! He would have much preferred it if _Felix_ would stand, perhaps slip that robe off his shoulders… he licked his lips, and then blushed, realizing that he had done it.

“How lucky for him that he just happens to be the only one who does,” Felix said, scathing. 

“I have always cherished the memories I have of tonight,” said the King, and Felix’s foreboding expression melted at once into something significantly softer. Dimitri marveled to see it, impressed at the ease with which this older, larger version of him handled his temper. Bolstered by the confidence of his future self’s conduct, he stepped forward to take Felix’s hands up in his own, smiling shyly.

“I can hardly believe how beautiful you are,” he murmured, marveling at the feel of Felix’s skin beneath his fingertips, at the textures of his scars and calluses and the undeniable strength of his grip. He had always loved that about Felix, his strength. So different from his own, so much better controlled. 

Felix responded with a noncommittal, wordless sound, and though he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, he didn’t pull away. Dimitri knew even this Felix well enough to know that for the permission it was. 

“I know that I am not _your_ Dimitri,” he hurried to explain. “I understand, I do.” He turned Felix’s hands in his and ran a thumb over the inside of his wrist, tracing over the faint blue lines visible through that pale, impossible soft patch of skin. “But since _my_ Felix won’t hear such things from me, just yet…” he trailed off. In truth, he blushed hotter with every word, but Felix, ah, _this_ Felix, if he could say such things to _any_ Felix, surely it was this one! And he had gone long enough, keeping it all inside. “How lucky I am in this time to have you by my side. I will treasure this knowledge, Felix, always. Know that I will do everything in my power to ensure --” 

“ _Stop,_ ” Felix hissed through his teeth, snatching his hands back, slapping Dimitri’s away at last. Nearby, King Dimitri in all his confident splendor threw his head back and laughed, loud and genuine. Felix rolled his eyes and reached out, letting his fingers rest beneath Dimitri’s chin, tilting his head up forcefully.

“So, when you told me that I was your first...” he glanced up, and Dimitri knew he wasn’t asking the question of him. Not exactly. Possibilities he had not yet dared to fully and consciously consider opening up in his mind’s eye, one after the other. Him and Felix. Felix and him. It was suddenly far too warm in the room, winter be damned. He had told him that? Felix had been his… first? Was that the fire roaring in the hearth, or the blood pounding in his ears?

“It was no lie,” the King assured him, laughter making his voice quiver, still. “Not even in the way you are thinking. I will have you know -- have you _both_ know -- that I did save myself for the version of you I truly wanted, waiting so patiently for me back at the monastery! Ah, mostly.” 

“Mostly,” Felix snorted, dropping Dimitri’s chin with a nod. “Well, good.” He must have caught the look on Dimitri’s face, then, stricken as it was, and he sighed, reaching out to card his fingers gently through his hair, instead. Dimitri sucked in an audible breath at the sensation -- and then flushed hot at the fact that he’d made such a sound over something so small, but Felix said not a word in response. He simply went on stroking, curling his fingers to tuck his hair behind his ears and smooth it out over his forehead, drawing it out of his eyes. “Just be patient,” he said, uncharacteristically gentle, though Dimitri could not have possibly missed the spots of color on his cheeks, the pink flush that went all the way to the tips of his ears.

“But I still don’t quite understand!” he protested, helplessly, searching Felix’s gaze. He couldn’t stand the thought of never going back, of never seeing his own still estranged Felix again, never seeing Ingrid, Sylvain, their professor and all of his classmates, too… and yet. The thought of leaving this behind was suddenly entirely unacceptable, too. How could he leave this place, this Felix with his gentle touches and soft reassurances, _this_ Felix, looking at him with such open affection in his eyes? His heart ached, throbbing like a painful tooth. 

Felix tilted his head, his long, beautiful hair shifting to slide along his shoulders. Helpless, Dimitri’s eyes moved to the narrow line of his throat, watching those blue-black strands glide over the hollow of it, where he suddenly wanted more than anything else to reverently press his lips.

“Do you really not?” Felix asked. 

Dimitri snapped his gaze back up and gaped at him, his mind empty of everything but how very badly he wished to crawl into this bed and feel Felix’s arms around him, feel those fingers on his face and in his hair once more. He reeled for an answer, blushing furiously. “I -- do I really -- I’m sorry, I, what?” 

Behind him, he heard the King laugh again, low and knowing. 

“Do you not understand our relationship,” Felix clarified, voice tight. 

“Should I? The Felix in my time would never…” he trailed off, gesturing helplessly around at all of it. 

“Because he hates you,” Felix said, flatly.

He opened his mouth to speak the easy lie -- _yes, of course --_ because whatever his true thoughts were, he knew enough about diplomacy to know how _not_ to step heedlessly into such an obvious trap. But the way Felix was looking at him, here and now… he did not want to hear the lie, Dimitri realized. 

He knew the truth, and this Felix did, too. 

“I believe that _you_ believe -- believed -- that you hated me,” he said, instead. 

The King went on laughing, his mirth having dissolved into low, irritating chuckles at their expense.

“Shut up,” Felix hissed at him, and privately, Dimitri agreed. Felix turned his attention back to him, frowning still. “So you don’t agree with his assessment,” he said, and then he leaned in to grab Dimitri by the shoulders, hard. “You don’t truly believe it. You never did.” 

“I don’t know that I would go that far,” he said, and some unfathomable emotion flashed in Felix’s eyes, something too large and too foreign to Dimitri’s own experience to interpret, just yet. “I did believe it, for a time,” he went on, eager to explain. “After the rebellion, my uncle told me that you and Rodrigue would be busy tending to Fraldarius affairs, for a time. That too much had been too long neglected for the sake of preserving stability in the capital. But I did wonder, right up until the day I arrived at the Officers Academy, if the rumours _were_ true. If the boy who had once called himself my closest friend really did intend to sever the traditional ties between our houses for good.”

Felix flinched away from him, shaking his head. “You never mentioned having heard any of that,” he muttered. “I’d hoped you hadn’t, somehow. Though... yes, I do recall declaring that openly to anyone who I thought might listen, at the time.” 

“Of course such sentiments could not help but be repeated in the capital,” Dimitri said. “You spoke of ending a tradition in place since the Kingdom’s very founding, after all. But when I saw you, that very first day at the Academy! That was when I knew I could not believe it. When I saw the way you looked at me, well, I… I just knew, I suppose. It had been two long years since I had last seen your face, and yet… ah, but I had hoped it would take so much less time to explain, to find each other again!” 

“Then why did you never _talk_ to me?!” Felix demanded, and Dimitri gaped at him, shocked by the anger in his eyes. 

“You asked me to leave you be,” he explained, mystified. “What else was I to do? And besides, I could not think of a way to explain what you saw in me that day. In fact, even now, I have no suitable explanation!” He gestured about, heat rising in his face. “I had hoped that after our class won the Battle of the Eagle and Lion… ah, such a thrilling contest! Do you remember?” He leaned forward, eagerly. “The two of us, fighting side by side, just as it was always meant to be! We did not even need to speak, Felix! We simply met eyes, and I knew precisely what you planned to do. Oh! And you carried that sword with you, the Zoltan blade --” 

“And taunted you with it all throughout Claude’s ridiculous feast, afterward,” Felix said, nodding, and Dimitri noticed with a pang in his chest how his lips twitched into a brief, fond smile at the memory.

“So you _were_ taunting me,” he said. An incredulous bark of laughter escaped him. “On purpose! Ah, but still… you must forgive me if I cannot fathom how _this_ could ever come to be!” And he gestured at the both of them, all of it, at Felix clearly nude beneath his robe and the King, too, who still had not bothered to fix his sash.

“Seiros,” Felix muttered. “He really _is_ you.” 

“I did tell you so,” said the King.

“Dimitri,” Felix sighed, grabbing his chin once more, drawing it up to face him. “He misses you, too.” 

He breathed out. “So, the rebellion...” 

Felix drew his thumb up the line of Dimitri’s jaw, silencing him with a touch. “Not your fault,” he said, tightly. “No one’s fault. Blame the Ar -- ah, Professor Byleth, if you must. That’s what I do, when I’m feeling particularly reminiscent.” 

“The professor?” Dimitri repeated, brow furrowing. 

“When he is feeling particularly petulant, he means,” the King said. “Put it from your mind. You will understand when you must.” 

“I see,” he said, brow furrowed still, entirely unsatisfied by the answer. “May I ask another question?” 

Felix shrugged. “You can always ask,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“True enough.” He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “If it isn’t too bold, then -- just when _will_ the, ah… present arrangement... establish itself between us?”

Felix’s eyes darted toward the King. 

“Whenever you can be bothered to initiate it, I suppose,” he said, sourly. The King laughed again, and the fondness in it squeezed Dimitri’s heart painfully in his chest. He wanted this very badly, he realized. 

“When I return to my own time,” Dimitri clarified, needlessly, voice hoarse. 

Felix nodded. 

The reasons why he might have searched Felix out immediately upon returning were becoming _abundantly_ clear, now. He swallowed, hard -- an inordinate effort, considering how dry his mouth had gone! 

“Will you…” Dimitri trailed off, hesitant. He closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, those exquisite slender fingers gently stroking through his hair. “Will you touch me like this, too?” he couldn’t help but wonder aloud, pathetic as it was. 

Felix’s fingers stilled. Dimitri’s eyes fluttered open and found him staring, something unfathomable in his flat amber gaze. 

Even so -- Felix dropped his eyes, first. 

“Dimitri,” he said, pulling his hands back to fold them, one atop the other, to rest in his lap. He wrung them together, fingers twisting. “I don’t know what I can say. What if I say something I ought to not, and then --” he twisted his head, glaring at his King, instead. “What if I change everything? What happens to us, to this? What if I say something you don’t remember? If I manage to somehow change everything you did, after this?” 

“You won’t,” the King said, softly.

“Well, why _not?_ ” Felix snapped, then, his volume rising sharply. Dimitri’s eyes flew wide, staring at him and then back to the man he might one day become. “Why shouldn’t I try? If I can spare you even a moment of it, even if it costs -- _this_ , Dimitri --” 

“I know,” the King sighed, rushing forward, and Dimitri stepped hastily out of his way as he dropped to his knees and took Felix’s hands in his, bringing his fingers up reverently to brush against his lips. “But you cannot. Felix. It’s all right.” 

“It’s _not_ right,” Felix insisted, and Dimitri heard the thickness in his voice, saw the wetness in his eyes. He couldn’t help it; he gasped aloud. 

They turned to him as one, the King resigned, and Felix… Felix simply seemed confused. “What?” he snapped. 

“Don’t cry, Felix,” Dimitri said, comforting him like he always had when they were children, because he had no idea what else he should do, here and now and so desperately out of place. “I’ll be all right. No, much better than only all right, ah, Felix!” He couldn’t stop himself from speaking faster, couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “Don’t you see? If this is real, if this is true, then we’ll be together, won’t we?” He searched his face, both their faces. “So, you see, no matter what’s coming --” 

“You have no idea,” Felix said, but Dimitri held up a hand and shook his head. 

“-- No matter whatthat is, I shall suffer it gladly, if that path leads me here, to this moment, with you.” 

Felix stared at him, utterly unreadable, and then he shook his head with a wet, derisive laugh. “Seiros,” he muttered, his voice thick with disgust. “I’d forgotten what it was like, trying to get through to you, back then.” 

“I know,” Dimitri murmured -- future Dimitri, _King_ Dimitri, still down on his knees. And then, right before his eyes, he took Felix’s chin in hand, tilted his head forward, and kissed him, slow and long and thorough. 

He could not have possibly looked away from the sight. He watched, mouth half open, half the blood in him rushing up to pound loudly in his ears, and the other half… ah, well. _That_ pooled deep and hot inside him, and when Felix parted his lips in turn and groaned into his King’s insistent, searching mouth, the sound of it sent a shiver through his body and settled as a restless pulse down at his very core. He felt, desperately, that he shouldn’t have been watching this! But, then, too -- if he understood this correctly -- wouldn’t that be him, one day, quite literally? It felt silly to turn politely away from something he himself would experience firsthand, eventually.

And besides all of that -- he was _terribly_ curious. 

He’d never kissed anyone before like this, romantically. Never with such _intent_ , not in all his life. And this was _Felix!_

Furthermore, it seemed that somewhere along the way, they had both found plenty of opportunity for practice. His future self brought his hands about to cradle Felix’s face, his thumbs sliding reverently up along his jawline and then down beneath those impossibly sharp cheekbones, and Dimitri watched transfixed as he deepened their kiss, plunging his tongue between Felix’s lips. He watched in wonder as Felix responded in kind, his eyes fluttering shut and his hands reaching out to rest on his King’s broad, bare shoulders, one slipping around to grip first the back of his neck, and then a fistful of hair. This elicited encouraging sounds -- from both of them -- and when they parted at last, Dimitri couldn’t help a sharp, appreciative exhalation at how affected Felix seemed in the aftermath of it. 

He could not help but think, warmth suffusing him down to his toes, that one day _he_ would know how to make Felix moan and sigh and submit to him like that. The thought was electric, affecting him with shocking efficacy. He felt warmth crawl up his chest, more than mere embarrassment, and he shifted delicately on his feet, tugging indiscreetly at one pant leg. 

Felix turned, caught him adjusting himself, and rolled his eyes even as Dimitri froze apologetically in place, apologies already gathering on his tongue. 

“That’s enough,” Felix said, pushing his own Dimitri firmly away. “Now he knows, so --” 

“Felix,” the King spoke over him, easily, his voice ringing with authority. “Lie back for me.”

Dimitri’s heart stuttered in his chest. Surely, Felix wouldn’t simply _obey_. He’d refuse, or at least argue, but -- ah, no. 

He shot the king a withering look, first, but then, slowly, he pushed himself back atop the bedcovers, scooting himself until he was more or less in position to flop back atop the pillows. He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to look at either of them. 

“What exactly are you about,” he demanded. 

The King lifted his chin and caught Dimitri’s gaze, and then, shockingly, _winked._ Dimitri made a strangled little sound, ashamed at the trajectory his own thoughts were inevitably taking, and watched with rapt attention and burning curiosity as the King then joined his Duke atop the bed, crawling over him until they were arranged so very suggestively Dimitri could hardly stand to look at them. 

Ah, but _not_ looking was far more unfathomable. 

Felix kept his arms crossed, flat on his back and gazing impetuously up at his King. “I am not putting on a show for him,” he said, firmly. 

The King grinned, and then he gestured for Dimitri to come closer, next. Perhaps he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help himself; he took the invitation gladly, moving to stand awkwardly beside them, next to the bed. But then -- he thought of what he’d seen, Felix and his future self in the ruins of Garreg Mach, himself forcing Felix’s face up to kiss him, and the restless heat in his middle curdled, thin and sour. He swallowed, hard. 

“Let him go,” he said, hoarsely, regretfully, even. 

Felix did twist his head about to look at him, then. “What?” 

“Not you.” He reached out to tap his future self on the back of one shoulder. “ _You._ That’s enough. He doesn’t want to do this, so you ought to respect his wishes, don’t you think?” 

“What are you doing,” Felix demanded, his amber eyes wide and mystified. 

“Protecting you,” the King murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle into Felix’s neck. Felix made a soft, indecipherable sound, and let his head fall back and his eyes flutter shut. “From me, if I’m not mistaken,” the King went on, and Dimitri flushed anew as he heard the wet, telltale sound of kisses pressed against bare skin.

Felix laughed, breathlessly, his eyes closed still. “I wish I could protect _him_ from _you,_ ” he said.

“Impossible,” the King sighed. He pressed one last kiss beneath the curve of Felix’s jaw, and then pushed himself up onto his knees, with Felix trapped still beneath him. He held out a hand toward Dimitri. “Here is what I remember,” he said, then, soft and somber. “I was here, atop the bed with the both of us, curled close to Felix, there.” He gestured with his free hand at the space next to Felix. “I was worried, terribly so, that I was allowing base desires to override my better judgement… but I did not remain so for so very long.” He smiled. Felix muttered something unintelligible, and covered his face with his hands. “You have more to discuss, don’t you? Go on, now. Pay no mind to me. My role in all of this is merely to keep him… cooperative.” And then he winked, again, while Felix couldn’t see. Dimitri gaped at him. 

“Cooperative,” Felix repeated, muffled through his hands, before Dimitri could. “Fine. Come here.” He dropped his hands, and indeed, his face was practically aflame, but there was a stubborn tightness in his jaw Dimitri knew only too well. He held out a hand. 

And with the both of them gazing expectantly at him, inviting him into their bed, offering to answer more questions, sate more curiosities… how could he have possibly resisted? 

He reached eagerly for them, Felix’s hand and that of his own future self, as well. They pulled him into bed with them as one, and then the King let him go to allow Felix to guide him where he wanted him, pulling him down on his side atop the bedsheets, facing him. Dimitri settled happily into place, there, breathing fast and shallow, while Felix took his right hand and held it before his face, frowning. He dragged a thumb over the red, wet line the dagger had drawn across his palm, back in Abyss, and then over the flakes of drying blood left still all down his fingers.

“I wish you hadn’t done this,” he sighed. 

The bed creaked as the King moved, sidling down the length of it, but Dimitri paid him no mind. He was arrested entirely by the gentle reprimand in Felix’s voice, so different from the hot, cutting fury he was so used to, now. He met his eyes, marveling at the way Felix allowed it, at the overwhelming intimacy of it, gazing into one another’s eyes, so close. 

“I’m glad for it,” he whispered back. “Assuming this is real, and not some fantasy. Or worse, some cruel trick…” 

“It’s real,” Felix assured him. He folded Dimitri’s own fingers over the cut on his hand and squeezed, tight. “But don’t misunderstand. Your path… _our_ path.” He scoffed. Pushed Dimitri’s hand away from him, and turned away, onto his back, eyes closed once more. “Nothing is worth what you went through. Not even this.” 

Dimitri wasn’t sure who he was speaking to -- himself, or the King -- but it was the King who answered. 

“I believe that I am the final authority on that,” he said, and then there was a soft whisper of cloth, suggestive enough on its own to make Dimitri blush, furiously, though he steadfastly refused to look. “I would not trade this future for anything,” he assured him, and Felix made another soft scoffing sound, his face flushing redder still. 

The bed creaked, more cloth whispered against skin, and Felix made a surprised sound, his head jerking up to look down the length of his body. Dimitri kept his eyes on Felix’s face, knowing better than to follow the line of his gaze. 

“What do you think you’re doing,” he demanded. 

“I’m afraid he has a lot of questions, Felix,” the King said, innocently. “I am merely endeavoring to ensure you do not lose your patience, with him.” 

On the heels of those words came another sound, soft and suggestive, skin on skin, and Dimitri watched with his own cock throbbing painfully in his pants as Felix’s lips twisted and he swore softly beneath his breath, falling back into the pillows once more. The pleasure flickering over his expression left little doubt as to what sort of thing was happening, below, and Dimitri _wanted_ to look, so very badly. He was breathing too hard, too fast, just watching Felix’s _face!_

“Ask, then,” Felix said, tightly, eyes closed, chest rising and falling. 

Dimitri scooted nearer, curling against his side. Hesitantly, he reached out, hovering one hand over Felix’s chest, rising and falling rapidly as it was. “May I touch you?” he murmured, hopefully. 

Felix flickered his eyes open, glanced from his hand to his face, and nodded. A soft chuckle sounded from below; both of them ignored it. Dimitri let his hand rest lightly over the silky fabric of Felix’s robe, and then, helplessly, dragged his thumb over an exposed strip of skin, marveling at the heat of it. Felix watched this for a time -- they both did -- the room the silent save for their heavy breathing and the slow, suggestive sounds from below, shivering with tension.

“You have questions,” Felix said, eventually, abruptly, startling him. 

Did he? His mind had gone blank of everything, save for one thing. 

“All I can think about is how badly I want to kiss you,” he said, breathlessly, stilling the path of his wandering thumb, with effort. 

“Hah,” Felix snorted. “All _I_ can think about is how I found you, that day.” He put his hand over Dimitri’s atop his chest, a thoughtful sound escaping his lips.

“ _You_ found me?” Dimitri asked, mystified. 

“I just said so, didn’t I? You were in a corner on that dirty floor, curled around that lance you’d taken with you. Not awake, but not asleep, either. Your eyes were open, gazing blankly, and I knew you couldn’t see me, but that you saw _something._ I thought someone had poisoned you. You had blood on your hands, your clothes, all down your sleeve. I…” 

He shut his mouth, abruptly. Dimitri saw his jaw bulge, felt his fingers tighten over his.

Heard a soft, sympathetic sound from below, and made the mistake of looking, at last. 

The King met his eyes, clearly expecting it, and smiled. He had pulled Felix’s robe aside from the waist down, exposing him, and Dimitri could not help but look, his eyes widening and then greedily drinking in every detail of the sight. 

He hadn’t, for some reason, expected Felix to be hard. Ah, but he was, his cock stiff and flushed and taut against his belly, and even as he watched, his older self ran a thumb up the length of him, making Felix suck in a quick breath and shiver in place. The King took him fully in hand, then, curling his fingers easily around him, stroking slowly. 

“This is ridiculous,” Felix breathed, his voice hitching. “Completely depraved. I’d have been furious, you know, if I’d known what you were doing, here.” 

“Which is why I never told you, I suppose,” Dimitri breathed, watching transfixed as the King used his fingers to coax a glistening, pearly drop of moisture forth, beading at the tip of Felix’s cock, wet and tempting. He licked his lips, subconsciously, and the King smiled at him and ducked his own head and lapped it up, exactly the way Dimitri wanted so badly to, himself. His cock jumped in his pants at the sight, and he felt himself flush head to toe, too, but he couldn’t have torn his gaze away for anything. 

“I suppose,” Felix agreed, faintly. “I was so damned worried, Dimitri! I --” 

“Tell me,” Dimitri cut him off, thoughtlessly, hardly even noticing as he did it. “When did you start using my name, again?”

The King made an approving sound, and, slowly, he flicked his tongue over the slit at the tip of Felix’s cock. Felix brought a fist to his mouth and groaned into it, swearing in quiet, feverish mutters. When no answer seemed forthcoming, the King paused his ministrations, lifting his chin to gaze up at the both of them, brows arched. 

“Answer the question, Felix,” he commanded. 

“Not for years, still,” Felix ground out, obediently. “I… ah. In public, anyway. When we… in private, when…” 

“What Felix means to say,” the King said, his tone devilishly teasing, “Is that he will call your name in pleasure as often and as eagerly as you feel inclined to make him do so.” 

A thrill went through him, hot and delicious, pooling in his middle. His cock pulsed, painfully hard, trapped as it was, and he shifted not so subtly in place, tucking it safely down one leg of his pants at last. 

“You seem to enjoy… orders,” he pointed out, delicately. 

Felix snorted, and down below, the King laughed. “I do,” Felix said, shortly. “Next question.” 

“Ah, so you enjoy both taking _and_ giving,” Dimitri said, all feigned thoughtfulness, following the lead of his older self -- and of his younger self, too, in memory. Felix had always been fun to tease, always made himself such a tempting target for it. 

“All the things you could ask about our future, and you wish to know what I like in bed,” Felix said, incredulous. 

“How else am I supposed to properly seduce you, in my own time?” Dimitri blinked up at him, tearing his gaze away from the sight below at last. Felix was looking back at him through half-lidded eyes, sweat beaded on his brow, his hair a beautiful spray of silky black over the rich blues and golds of the gathered pillows. 

“I think you are… greatly overestimating the difficulty,” Felix muttered, looking away. The King went on servicing him, the sounds unmistakable, and Dimitri watched greedily as Felix’s mouth fell half open, little groaning breaths puffing out of him as his pleasure built. “This is, ah. You… _well._ ” He huffed, and Dimitri stared with rapt, appreciative attention as Felix reached up to shrug himself out of his robe entirely, exposing himself in full. He shifted, and Dimitri darted his gaze down the line of his body to watch, cock throbbing with want, as he lifted his fine, shapely legs and draped them over the King’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Come here,” Felix said, sharply, pulling Dimitri’s attention back to his face. 

His arms were held out, inviting.

Heart soaring, Dimitri crawled all too eagerly forward into them. He threw an arm over Felix’s chest and tucked his face into his neck, shuddering with pleasure as Felix wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. Felix exhaled hot, shaky, shuddering breaths over the shell of his ear, stirring his hair, and the sensation was so -- intimate, so pleasurable, Dimitri had to hold his breath and clench the muscles of his thighs tight, suddenly and already on the precipice of spilling himself into his own pants. 

“Tell me what it feels like,” he asked, pathetically. “Is it -- good? Do you, ah… allow this… often?” 

Felix laughed, low and mixed with the breathless sounds of his pleasure, still. His fingers, long and slender, slid up the back of Dimitri’s neck and into his hair, nails scraping pleasantly against his scalp. His other hand settled at the small of his back, rubbing slow circles, there. So gentle, so _intimate._ Those damned tears pricked at the back of his eyes, again, sudden and unexpected. 

“That’s no answer,” he complained. “Tell me.” 

“You’ll know yourself, soon enough,” Felix said, instead. 

Dimitri swallowed, hard, his hips rolling forward despite himself. The implication… “I want so badly to make you feel this way,” he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut. He pressed his nose against the soft, fragrant skin of Felix’s neck and breathed deep, bolstering himself. “I think of it often. You’ll spar with me, still, after all. So I wonder -- if I could beat you soundly enough -- send your sword flying off somewhere and get you on your back, beneath me, ah, what would you do if I held you there and kissed you senseless?” 

“Try it and see,” Felix suggested, and Dimitri laughed helplessly, wiggling closer to him, nodding his understanding. Perhaps that was how it happened? His heart beat liquid excitement through him, heating his blood unbearably. 

“More than kiss,” he murmured. “I want so much more. Felix… oh, Felix. I want you so, so badly.” 

“Be patient,” Felix panted, one hand in his hair, still, while the other traced lightly up the line of his spine, over the stiff fabric of his starched uniform. “Just a little longer.” Dimitri felt him shift, felt him tilt his head back and his hips up, heard the bed creak anew with his slow, rocking movements. “Ah… oh, _shit,_ ” he hissed, softly, and the vulgarity of it coupled with the pleasure trembling in his voice sent molten pleasure through Dimitri, too, just to hear it. He shivered, focusing every part of him on that, the pleasure, the heat building deep in his belly, behind his balls. 

“You’re so close,” he whispered, curling himself tighter around him, so he could feel every twitch of his body, every helpless shiver that ran through him. He was, too.

“Is that a question,” Felix ground out, tightening his fingers in his hair. Dimitri shook his head, enjoying the way it felt, pulling and tugging against his scalp.

“No, but… may I watch, when…?” he trailed off, hopefully, and then gasped as Felix’s fingers tightened into a fist at the back of his head. 

“Look wherever you like,” he said, terse and breathless, and then he let him go.

Dimitri lifted his head. 

Felix had tilted his head back against the pillows, his brow creased, his eyes closed, his lips wet and parted, little puffing gasps escaping them in bursts. Dimitri swept his eyes greedily down his body, lingering on the sweat gathered in the hollow of his throat. His collar bones were so sharp and prominent, begging to be touched and tasted! He longed to run his fingers over the tight muscles of his chest, to let his tongue dip into the space around his navel and down further still, too. A tempting trail of fine, dark hair led his gaze inevitably between his legs, and he marveled at the sight of Felix’s cock, flushed and hard and glistening wet with saliva and his own fluids, too, leaking steadily from the tip. 

He had expected, prepared, perhaps on some level even _wanted_ to see his own future self with Felix’s cock buried deep in his mouth. Instead, he had settled much lower than that, supporting Felix’s hips with his hands, lifting him off the bed. Felix’s legs bent over those too-broad shoulders, ankles locked against his back, and so -- those wet sounds he still heard so clearly…?

He gasped, flushing hot as he made sense of the arrangement. Was he using his tongue, to, to -- 

“ _Felix,_ ” he breathed, hips moving independently of his mind, every part of him utterly aflame. 

The King lifted his head, and Dimitri tried and failed not to notice the wetness on his face, the saliva leaking down his chin. He whimpered, softly, moving his legs together, desperate to sneak whatever stimulation he could. 

“Don’t _stop,_ ” Felix snapped, and the King grinned -- and shifted, doing something Dimitri couldn’t see at his angle. But he could see the way Felix _reacted_ , the way his hips jumped up and he swore loudly and threw his head back, arching his entire body in a way that did not seem entirely _voluntary._ “Shit! _Yes!_ ” Felix cried, his voice tight and desperate, and Dimitri’s eyes flew back to his face in a hurry. He wanted, more than anything else, to watch him while he peaked, to commit the tortured bliss in his expression to sacred, treasured memory. 

Clumsily, he reached to take Felix’s hand, gripping tight. “Let yourself go,” he begged. “Please, Felix. Let me see you.” 

Felix threw his other hand over his eyes, palm up, and gently, Dimitri took that hand in his, too. Felix blinked up at him, panting hard, eyes dark, pupils blown wide, teetering on the very edge. In his periphery, Dimitri saw himself duck his head, heard the telltale sound of his tongue working diligently, and then -- 

“Damn it!” Felix cried, gazing up at him. “You -- you -- oh, oh, _Dimitri!_ ” his voice cracked and his body jumped, hips twitching upward, and Dimitri watched with rapt, appreciative attention as he threw his head back and tumbled full tilt over the edge, calling his name all throughout. A tight cord of muscle in his neck twitched, and Dimitri squeezed his hands and licked his own lips and wished he had the courage to bend his neck and kiss him, there, long and wet and messy. Next time, he thought, deliriously. When it was only the two of them together, him and _his_ Felix, yes. His Felix, who would one day be _this_ Felix, and know the truth about everything. 

He watched Felix’s face, gazing down at him raptly as his tight, crumpled expression slowly smoothed into one of relaxed, embarrassed bliss, instead. When Felix’s eyes eventually fluttered back open, they locked with his, first. 

“Damn you,” he growled, and then he reached up and pulled him down into a relentless, crushing embrace. Dimitri made a pleased sound, warmth bubbling all through him at the way it felt to have Felix’s arms wrapped so tight around him, to feel him shivering against his body and panting so heavily in his ear.

Down below, the King stood, and Dimitri both felt and heard him ease Felix’s body back down flush onto the bed. There was a whisper of cloth and a rattle like porcelain, followed by a suspiciously wet sound, and then Felix was chuckling into his ear, low and quiet, and nothing else mattered in the world. Dimitri closed his eyes and held him tight, curled against him on the bed, and desperately tried to commit it to memory, all of it. The feel of it, the sound of it, even the smell of it, sweat and sex. 

“There, now,” the King murmured, eventually. Cautiously, Dimitri cracked his eyes open and looked down. He was standing over them, robed and belted, smiling fondly, that one eye of his twinkling down at them. He folded a cloth discreetly in his hands, and Dimitri realized with another blaze of heat that he’d been cleaning the mess Felix had made, down there. “You have a little longer,” he said, gently. “Talk.” 

“Dimitri --” 

“To _him,_ Felix.” 

Felix fell quiet, his breathing deep and even. Dimitri couldn’t bring himself to look at his face, afraid of what he might see there, now. Instead, he watched as the King turned away from both of them, heading for the door. 

“Wait,” he said, uncertainly. 

The King paused, but he didn’t look back. “Talk,” he repeated, in tones that brooked no argument, and then he let himself out.

“Ridiculous,” Felix said again, the moment the door clicked shut after him. 

Dimitri settled down against him, resting his cheek against his bare shoulder. “Actually,” he said, with a helpless laugh, “In this case, I think I agree.” 

“He knows exactly what we’re saying, anyway,” Felix went on complaining. “Does he think he’s being polite? After _that._ ” He made a soft, derisive sound, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth. 

“It must be important, whatever we’re about to say,” Dimitri said, tremulously. He didn’t know what words were expected of him, what was right or even remotely proper to say, here and now. 

“Maybe,” Felix said. 

But instead of talking, they fell silent, together, save for the sounds of their breathing. Dimitri let his eyes close, let himself snuggle closer into the shelter of Felix’s bruising embrace. He didn’t mind it, that or the silence, despite the orders they’d been given. Slowly, Felix’s grip on him loosened, until his fingers went wandering again, rubbing Dimitri’s back, up and down. Dimitri let out a soft, shuddering breath, wincing at the telltale wetness in his own pants as he rolled his hips, helplessly. Images marched behind his eyelids, most of them of Felix’s sharp, fine features twisted into various states of pleasure. 

“You must think the absolute worst of me,” he said, eventually. 

Felix made a considering sound, and Dimitri took it as permission to continue. 

“I gave that woman my blood, hoping for a glimpse of the future… I wanted to know so many things. And instead of pressing you about any of them, I let myself indulge in _this.”_ He turned his head and shifted so that he could press his face into Felix’s hair, breath in his scent more fully. “Let myself be distracted. I should ask you. Those things I saw, before I came here…” he swallowed, voice suddenly thick. “I saw myself…” he trailed off, hopefully.

Still, Felix said nothing. 

Dimitri sighed. 

“It’s true, isn’t it? I do become a monster. At least, for a time.” 

“No,” Felix said, quietly. 

He shook his head. “I know what I _saw._ I was in Fhirdiad, I think. The castle dungeons.” 

He felt Felix’s body go stiff and still, beneath him. 

“You see?” Dimitri said, accusingly, lifting his head. “You know what I’m talking about. I was completely out of control. I saw myself murder them, men and women in Kingdom colors, some I _know._ I… if this is real, is that, too? Or are these all just possibilities, and --” 

“Stop,” Felix said, cutting him off, short and sharp. Dimitri gazed down at him, imploring. 

“I … saw something else, too,” he admitted, his voice small. 

“It doesn’t matter what you saw.” 

“I saw _us,_ ” he said. “You and I. At Garreg Mach, I think, only… Felix, has something happened to the cathedral, there? I, I think we were arguing, fighting in the ruins of it. And I think -- I saw myself kiss you, only, you, ah… you clearly didn’t _want_ \--” 

“Dimitri,” Felix sighed, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. Dimitri quieted, more out of surprise than the efficacy of the gesture. Felix cast a guilty look toward the door, and shook his head, hard. “Listen. I do want to tell you something.” He took a deep breath. “It’s important, so listen close. When the year ends. When you go back to the capital. You aren’t doing well -- not right now, but it’s worse, at the end of the year. So don’t go alone. Take me with you. Ingrid and Sylvain, too. We’ll all go with you, we _wanted_ to go with you. At least, _I_ did!” 

He shouted the last, his voice cracking, and Dimitri gazed at him in mute wonder as he clenched a fist and brought it down hard against the mattress with a definitive _thump._

“But… but you didn’t,” Dimitri realized, brow furrowing. “I did go alone. Didn’t I?” 

Felix shook his head. He sat up, winced, and pulled his discarded robe off the bed to cover himself, as though Dimitri hadn’t just witnessed exactly what he had, anyway. “Take me with you,” he insisted. “No matter what. Listen. I don’t -- I don’t care, if it changes everything. Even if it changes us. Even if I die, Dimitri --” 

“You cannot possibly ask me to risk --” 

“-- You don’t _understand!_ ” Felix cried, twisting to face him, gripping his shoulders tight. “I would do anything. Give up anything, _everything,_ if I could go back and spare you what’s coming. So please. This time, give me that chance.” He shook him, hard. “Don’t you just _leave_ me, again, Dimitri, _please._ ” 

He was right, of course. Dimitri didn’t understand, not at all. He gazed mutely back at him, mind whirling, trying to make sense of the bits of information he’d gleaned, but all he could think about was how _upset_ he was, how it spoke to the sincerity of his feelings, past and present. His heart felt too big for his chest, his body too small to contain the magnitude of his emotion. Felix _did_ care. It was writ plainly in the lines of his face, the desperation in his eyes, the bruising strength of the grip he had still on his shoulders. 

The colors in the room seemed to fade, to grow muted and faint.

“...I won’t,” Dimitri said, slowly. “I won’t leave you. If there’s anything I can do, when that time comes…” he tilted his head, brow furrowed. “But I won’t let you die, either.” 

“Fine,” Felix said. His grip loosened, just a fraction. “...Good. I don’t want to die, either. I, just…” he blinked, and then glanced around, helplessly. “I don’t know how any of this works. He says you can’t change anything, but that can’t be true, can it? You can make whatever choice you want.” He gave him an uncertain look. “Make the right one, this time. Promise me.” 

“I promise,” Dimitri said, half in a daze. The room flickered, and Dimitri closed his eyes, willing himself to remain just a little while longer. “Felix…” 

“Hey. What’s the matter?” He blinked his eyes open to find Felix peering at him, and Dimitri desperately roved his eyes over every part of his expression, his tight little frown and the creases on his forehead, the shine of his lips and all the tangled emotion reflected in his familiar amber eyes. 

A wave of dizziness passed over him, and he grabbed desperately for Felix’s hand, scrabbling over the sheets. 

“Dimitri,” Felix said again, fainter. Wind rushed past his ears, drowning out his voice. “You’re pale as a ghost. What’s --” 

The room spun one last time, and disappeared. 

This time, he expected that vicious, unnatural cold. Still, it stole his breath away, ripped as he was from the warmth of the fire, the bed, and Felix’s embrace. He squeezed his eyes closed against the all encompassing, endless darkness in every direction and held his breath, waiting for what felt like endless eternity. His nose went numb, first, and then his ears, his cheeks, his fingers, toes, impossible cold seeping into him until he could neither breathe nor move nor think. 

He felt something like a hook, tugging at the back of his brain, and then -- 

“Do you know who this _is?”_

Felix’s voice, curled into a high pitched, terrified snarl. Dimitri’s eyes snapped open. He took a breath, shocked at the warmth of the air that filled his lungs. Someone was holding his hand, their skin burning hot against his own, and he realized after a long sluggish moment of blank staring that that was Felix, too. Felix’s voice. Felix’s hands. They only felt so warm because he was so cold, he realized. 

“This is _Prince Dimitri,_ heir to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and if you’ve done anything at all to harm him, make no mistake. I’ll take your head off your shoulders, here and now!” 

“My _lord,”_ a woman’s voice answered, and that, too, shivered with fear. “I would _never_ cause harm -- to anyone, least of all a prince! He came to _me,_ ” she added, sharper. “You would do well to remember that. I’ve done him a favor!” 

“A favor? He looks _dead._ ” 

“Look again,” she said, smugly, and Felix whipped his head around to do just that. 

Dimitri blinked up at him, utterly arrested by the stricken look on his face, his face, his wonderful, beloved, familiar face. He was not yet the man he would one day be, but Dimitri could see it in him, now. It was easy to see how his chin might grow sharper, how his face might grow leaner and ever more severe. 

But his eyes -- his beautiful, amber eyes, wide and shining with relief -- they were just the same as always, regardless of past, present, future. 

“Felix,” he breathed, squeezing his hand. “It’s all right. I’m here.” 

* 

Felix realized what was happening, just a moment too late. 

He grabbed for him, panic rising in him -- he still had so much more to say! But his hands passed harmlessly through Dimitri’s shoulders, and he didn’t seem to see or hear him anymore, at all. “Dimitri,” Felix said, desperately, watching his face contort with fear. Whatever was happening to him, it clearly wasn’t pleasant, and that was no surprise. He could recall with perfect clarity the state he’d found him in, down in that sick smelling seance room in the depths of Abyss. “Hey! Dimitri! I love you, damn it! Do you hear me?” he called, but the image of him seemed to waver, and there was no response. The fading shape of him flickered, once, twice, and then he was gone.

Felix sat atop the bed, staring blankly at the space his prince from the past had occupied just a moment previously. He pulled his robe tighter over his shoulders, emotions all tangled up impossibly in his chest. 

The door clicked softly open. 

“Did he hear me?” Felix asked, without looking. 

“Ah…” 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“...No,” Dimitri said, gently. Felix heard him approach, his footfalls heavy as ever.

He laughed, wet and bitter. “Stupid,” he said. “I should have said it first.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” Dimitri said, placing his hands atop his shoulders, “I seem to recall figuring it out soon after.” 

Felix nodded. “I told him to take me with him,” he said. 

“I know.” 

He nodded again. Of course he did. “So he won’t,” he said, miserably. 

“He is me,” Dimitri explained, still so gentle, so fucking gentle. “I know exactly what he will do. And so do you.” 

“It’s not fair,” Felix said. “To be given a glimpse of the future, and to be told exactly what to do -- and still, you can’t change anything?” 

The mattress sank as Dimitri joined him atop it, and Felix let himself be pulled willingly into the circle of his arms. They settled abed together, Dimitri doing most of the work, until they were properly tangled up beneath the furs. Dimitri held Felix just the way Felix had been holding _him_ \-- his younger self -- that is, tight and comforting. 

“I’m not sure,” Dimitri said, thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could have. I remembered what you said. Even in the state I was… ah, Felix. I deliberated that decision for days. Changed my mind what must have been a thousand times. In the end, I simply had to trust that what I knew was real, and if I made the choice you’d cautioned me against -- I’d end up here, one day, just like this.” 

Felix scoffed, turning to press his face into his shoulder. “Always disregarding my advice.” 

“Never,” Dimitri said, solemnly, stroking his hair. “I have never once disregarded your advice. Always, I’ve taken it under serious consideration.” Felix could not see him smile, but he felt it, heard it in the teasing undercurrent that crept into his tone. “If I simply agreed with your conclusions about everything, wouldn’t that be just as bad as never listening at all?” 

“I refuse to answer that,” Felix said, petulantly. 

Dimitri laughed, pulling him first closer and then into a kiss, slow and languid. Felix hummed against his lips, letting Dimitri explore him thoroughly, exploring him in turn -- and then laughed, so abruptly that Dimitri pulled sharply away, surprised. 

“Felix?” he inquired, blinking up at him. 

“I hope you washed your face,” he said, “considering where your mouth just was.” 

Dimitri’s lips parted, and a flush settled prettily on his face even as he ducked his head with an abashed laugh of his own. “I never would have thought of it on my own,” he explained. 

Felix gaped at him. “ _That’s_ what gave you the idea?” 

“What else?” 

“I -- _Dimitri.”_

“What?” Dimitri gazed at him, eyes wide, deceptively innocent. 

“I thought you’d picked it up in a _book_ , or from _Sylvain,_ or -- Goddess,” he gasped, curling into his side, suddenly and utterly wracked with laughter. It bubbled up out of him, endless, until Dimitri was laughing, too, until they were clinging to one another beneath the blankets, stomachs cramping, gasping like fish out of water. “So,” Felix panted, when he found air enough to speak, “You are saying that you learned to stick your tongue in my ass wholly and entirely _from yourself_ , after all.” 

“I --” Dimitri blinked, laughing helplessly, clinging to him. “I suppose I am,” he could not help but admit, because evidently, it was true. 

“Unbelievable.” 

“My apologies,” Dimitri said, breathless still. “Please, forgive me.” 

Felix settled back down next to him, humming thoughtfully, like he had to debate with himself whether or not he would. Dimitri caught his chin in hand and turned his head, bringing their faces together, so close their noses nearly touched. 

“Well,” Felix said, begrudgingly. “At least he knows, now.” 

“That is, indeed, what matters most,” Dimitri agreed, solemnly. 

Felix rolled his eyes, and then he stuck his tongue out, just a fraction, to wet his lips. “I suppose we’re not going to just disappear, then.” 

“I don’t believe so, no.” 

“So, we have plenty of time.”

“The rest of our lives, if I’m not mistaken,” Dimitri said. “Now. Would you be terribly cross with me if I said I intended to kiss you until all thoughts of what just happened have fled your mind entirely?” He tilted his head, hopefully.

“That might be all right, actually,” Felix said, and then he tilted his chin to capture his mouth, first, instead. 


End file.
